Puff, Puff, Puff That Cigarette
by girl in the glen
Summary: What's a man to do when the day just won't let him break a bad habit?


Napoleon Solo wanted a cigarette in the worst way. He was sitting in a parked car outside of a building suspected of being a THRUSH satrapy, waiting for his partner to come back and report his findings. It had been too long and as he sat and worried about the Russian agent, Solo felt the nicotine urges begin to tickle at his brain with images of smoke curling up and out of the open window.

"I can quit smoking anytime I want." He repeated the mantra adopted for the job he had committed to in response to the new warning on each cigarette package; from the U.S. Surgeon General, no less. Sure, he could quit whenever he wanted, the trouble was he didn't actually _want_ to quit. He liked smoking. A lot.

In the midst of his smoky meditation, Illya opened the passenger door and plopped down into the seat. His relaxed demeanor suggested there was nothing happening to warrant any action on their part.

"Nothing inside, no sign of anyone having been inside... I think our information is wrong." the blond shook his head and ran his fingers through his hair; he had encountered some dust while snooping through the old warehouse. Napoleon coughed when some of the residue blew in his direction, just one more reason why he should have had a cigarette in his mouth.

"What a waste of time driving all the way down here. Well... ' Napoleon turned to look at his side view mirror and spotted someone he recognized. "Wait a minute, I think I see a little bird."

Illya craned his neck to see what Napoleon was looking at and turned quickly around, avoiding being spotted himself.

"Are you certain?"

"Yes, I distinctly remember him from that Shining Star Affair; he was the guy who shot you and got away." That was an unfortunate memory for both men, and taking Napoleon's word for it, Kuryakin decided to also take action. Slinking down low in his seat, he opened the door and slid out of the car, crouching beside it as he remained out of sight. Napoleon continued to watch the man's approach while Illya crept around his side of the car towards the front, peaking beneath it as the man continued towards them. Napoleon turned his head so the fellow couldn't see his face, waiting for the moment when Illya would jump out and tackle the guy.

It was not something expected as the suspect walked from the market back to his apartment. When he was even with the car's headlights Illya leapt out at him and drove him down to the ground. Not willing to be mugged, he leveled a punch that caught Illya square on the jaw, sending him flying backwards onto the pavement. Napoleon was quick to hit him with a sleep dart, slowing him down until he finally collapsed onto the sidewalk.

UNCLE's top agent took another look at the man and realized he had made a mistake. It wasn't the THRUSH who shot Illya. It wasn't anyone else he knew of or recognized.

"Damn, I wish I had a cigarette." He said it to himself because Illya was out cold.

Lying in the street was the blond agent, on the sidewalk the innocent with a dart in his neck. Napoleon just couldn't get things right today, and the longing for a cigarette was a constant reminder that there was absolutely no satisfaction in life without his nicotine fix. And now, to top this off, he would have to make a report on this and submit it to ...

The trill of his communicator broke the silence, but not before a police cruiser pulled up alongside the blue sedan that anchored this unlikely scene. Napoleon needed to answer his boss, but he was aware of the cop lining him up in his sights. If he reached into his coat for the communicator the police officer might think he was going for a gun. Oh, wait...

"Drop your weapon and put your hands on the hood of the car. Do it now!" Geez, what else could go wrong today?

"Okay, I'm doing it. Officer, if you'll just look inside my jacket pocket you will find my identification. I am an agent for the U.N.C.L.E., and no one here is seriously hurt." The policeman was getting his cuffs ready to place on Napoleon's wrists when the communicator started trilling again.

"What is that? Hold on...' Reaching into the jacket he found the source of the noise and held it up, as though it were an insect or some type of vermin. Napoleon smiled, all he had to do was explain things.

"This is my communicator. I told you, I am with the United Network Command for Law and Enforcement. We're in the same line of work, you and I. And that is my, um... our version of a walkie talkie. Right now I'd like to talkie... I mean, talk to my boss. He's the one calling."

The policeman had heard of UNCLE, although this guy didn't look much like a cop.

"Who's the guy in the street? And what is that sticking out of this one's neck?" Napoleon exhaled a deep breath that he wished was infused with cigarette smoke.

"That blond fellow is my partner. He was knocked out by the other guy, who we thought was an agent for a crime organization called THRUSH..."

"THRUSH? Like the disease horses get on their hooves?" Napoleon nodded. He wondered if this cop had a cigarette on him.

"Yeah, something like that. Anyway, he's not our guy and that is a sleep dart. He'll wake up pretty soon, although he might have a headache. I'm very sorry, but you know how it is. Sometimes it's hard to tell the good guys from the bad guys." Napoleon shrugged his shoulders as if to say '_We're all in this together, right pal'_.

The police officer nodded slowly; sometimes it was difficult, he had to agree.

"Okay Mr...' he had Napoleon's ID now.. "Solo. Napoleon Solo. Say that's an unusual name. What about your partner?" The cop indicated Illya, who was still lying prone in the street. Napoleon decided he should probably get him up and try to revive him.

"Illya Kuryakin. Say, do you mind if I help him up? I hate to leave him lying there in the street..." Napoleon started towards him, motioning for the policeman to help. "By the way, what is your name officer?" Nothing like creating a bond with an innocent, even if he was a cop.

"Kevin O'Riley. Kuryakin, is that Russian? Are you sure you're working for an American company?" Another sigh escaped Napoleon's lips, and once more they itched for a cigarette.

"We're not an American organization, we're international and non-partisan... no political affiliations whatsoever. We just try to keep the peace." That brought a chuckle from Officer O'Riley.

"Looks like you're doing a bang up job, Napoleon." As the UNCLE agent looked at his unconscious partner and the skewered man on the sidewalk, he had to agree.

"Say, do you by any chance smoke?" Napoleon just wasn't going to make it through this day without at least one puff. "I don't know why my partner is out this long, although he does sometimes have a glass jaw when the punch is just right. You know?" O'Riley took another look at the unconscious man on the sidewalk.

"I guess this guy could for sure deliver a punch. This is Kid Bronco, the new welterweight who just won that big fight at the Garden."

If Illya ever came to, he was going to have Napoleon's hide for this.

"Really? He's a professional boxer? Gee whiz, I'm glad I didn't try to take him down." Officer O'Riley let out a guffaw, triggering something in Napoleon that sent him into spasms of laughter. Illya groaned as he started to regain consciousness, only to hear his partner near hysterics.

"Chyort... shut up Napoleon. That other fellow had better be dead; not only did he shoot me but now he has nearly knocked my head off of my body." Oh, how to explain all of this to Illya?

"Hey, tovarisch, you're back. Wow, that was some punch you took. And guess what. This isn't even our guy." Napoleon was smiling, hoping that his good humor would rub off on the Russian. Now it was Illya who looked like he needed a cigarette.

"Not our guy? You mean I took that wicked punch and he isn't even a THRUSH? Who the ... What are you not telling me, Napoleon?"

"He's a boxer. Hey, remember that affair where you had to get in the ring and your sparring partner knocked you out and we thought you had a glass jaw? Remember that?" Napoleon was rambling now, slightly afraid of what Illya might do to him, craving that lost cigarette and wondering how they would explain any of this to Mr. Waverly.

"Hey, the Kid is waking up. Gee fellas, I sure hope he has a good sense of humor because..."

The trilling was back.

"Open Channel D, this is Solo."

"Mr. Solo, I have attempting to reach you. Has there been some difficulty with your assignment?" Napoleon groaned audibly.

"Uh, sir... well, you see... Well, the warehouse isn't a THRUSH satrapy. However..."

"However? Is there something else?"

"Well, I did think we were going to intercept a THRUSH agent, however... he turned out to be a boxer instead." Napoleon could almost hear the Old Man chomping down on his old briar pipe.

"A boxer? As in a pugilist, Mr. Solo? Not a THRUSH, but someone who boxes for a living?" No fooling the Old Man, he was quick.

"Yes sir, and I shot him with a sleep dart. And, we have an officer on the scene and Illya has finally come to." If he didn't get a cigarette in the next ten minutes, Napoleon thought he might just combust on the spot.

"By all means, do apologize to the man, and bring him back with you if he is willing. Legal will be standing by to settle whatever complaint he might have.' There was a pause that made Napoleon think the connection was lost.

"And do try to avoid shooting any more innocent people, Mr. Solo. Your expense report is bad enough as it is without adding lawsuits to the mix. Waverly out."

Officer O'Riley whistled long and low. "Wow, sounds like you're in for some disciplinary action when you get home." Napoleon's smirk was trademark Solo. Bad enough he had a surly Russian on his hands, now there was a smart mouthed Irishman to contend with.

"You never answered me about the cigarette." Napoleon was desperate; he needed a smoke now worse than before.

"Nah, not me. I gave up smoking when I started seeing those warnings on the package. This job's hazardous enough without killing myself with a cigarette. Nope, life is more satisfying without that monkey on my back. You want I should help you with the Kid here?" O'Riley cut his eyes over to the curb where Illya and Kid Bronco were now chatting, each one having made his apologies for the mistaken identity and the wicked uppercut.

"No thank you, Officer O'Riley, I think we'll be fine. You've been a great help, in more ways than you might think." Napoleon meant that; the officer's simple exclamation that life was more satisfying without an addiction to nicotine was a nice farewell to the habit he couldn't quite break. He might not even succeed, but at least he was trying.

Illya was being helped up by the big man who had knocked him out cold while the agent tried to explain the nature of sleep darts and mistaken identities. All in all, Kid Bronco was an understanding man on the cusp of a promising career. Being caught in the middle of some spy story was just a part of his big adventure in life. He promised to drop in at Del Floria's the next day, but assured both agents that he wouldn't be causing UNCLE any trouble, especially since it was their job to help protect him and all the other citizens of the world.

"Do you think you can get us back to headquarters without any more trouble?" IIlya was still a bit testy; even if the Kid had understood about their mistakes, he was still sporting a sore jaw and the anticipation of a giant headache.

"I said I'm sorry. What more do you want?" Even as he said the words, Napoleon knew it was a mistake. What the Russian wanted was always major payback.

"Do you expect an apology to satisfy me after suffering at the hands of a professional boxer? Bohze ..."

"Don't say it! Damn it Illya, all I've wanted all day long is just one cigarette. I'm about to lose my everylovin' mind over a lousy cigarette, so cut me some slack and just tell me what you want in return for my awful, unforgivable mistake." There, that outburst was what he needed, perhaps more than the longed for cigarette. Finally, some satisfaction. Illya just smiled in that small way he had, neither humored nor disdained.

"I apologize, Napoleon. I forgot you are attempting to break one of life's most difficult addictions. Just let us get back to headquarters and we will not speak of this again." Kuryakin had once been a smoker, so he understood the difficulty in giving it up.

'' Thanks Illya. Really, thank you."

In life, there were things that robbed you of satisfaction, and things that brought great satisfaction. Napoleon's attitude had been the real problem, and now, at the end of this day, he had a new way of looking at things. Anything to which you were tied should bring more than just marginal satisfaction. It should bring with it some type of fulfillment, and purpose. He looked again at his partner, at the swollen jaw and the weary looking eyes. Friendship was satisfying, as was saving the world from actual villains.

Napoleon Solo knew how to gain satisfaction, and no cigarette on earth could take that away from him.


End file.
